“A hundred and fifty,” Larry Edwards corrected.

One dark eyebrow shot up in disbelief. “I see. One hundred and fifty dollars, not that I have any idea what you spent it on. Your favorite restaurant is a truck stop.”

“The San Sebastian is no truck stop,” he denied hotly, staring into her violet-blue eyes. Unusual eyes, beautiful and haunting. He had noticed her voice immediately on the radio-the Night Siren, everyone called her. It seemed a husky whisper of pure sensual promise. Night after night he’d listened to her and fantasized. And then when he met her…she had great skin and a mouth that screamed sex. And those eyes. He’d never seen eyes like that. She looked so innocent, and the combination of sexy and innocent was just too hard to resist.

But she was proving to be difficult, and damn it all, what did she really have to brag about? She was skinny, looking like a lost waif, nothing to be all haughty and uptight about. In fact, she should be grateful for his attention. As far as he was concerned, she was nothing but a tease.

She shrugged in a curiously feminine gesture. “So you think because you spent this money on three dates it entitles you to sleep with me?”

“It damn well does, honey,” he snapped. “You owe me.” He hated that distant, clinical look she gave him. She needed a real man to put her in her place-and he was just the man to do it.

Saber forced a smile. “And if I don’t-how did you so delicately put this?-if I don’t ‘put out,’ you intend to dump me off right here in the middle of the street at two o’clock in the morning?”

She hoped he would make a move or force the issue, because he was going to get a lesson in manners he was never going to forget. She had nothing to lose. Well, almost nothing. She had stayed too long this time, made too much of a life for herself, and if she wiped up the floor with good old Larry the Louse before she disappeared, she’d be doing the women of Sheridan a favor.